


The Train Yard

by Midnight_Clover



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (Peter is the only one without Powers), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Horror, Alternate Universe - No Powers Peter Parker, Alternate Universe - The Magnus Archives, Blood, Body Horror, Cannon Typical "Michael" fuckery, Canon-Typical Violence, Except it takes place in February, Far From Home but if it wasn't set in the mcu and then an au off of that, Fear, Halloween Special, Horror, I accidentally did body horror, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Takes place between (MAG 76) The Smell of Blood and (MAG 77)The Kind of Mother, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 02:24:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21245948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnight_Clover/pseuds/Midnight_Clover
Summary: Case #0170214 - Peter ParkerStatement regarding their disappearance on a school field trip to London.





	The Train Yard

**Author's Note:**

> I had to look at a map of the London underground (tubes). There may be no trains where I live that are for people, but I’ve traveled enough to places that do that I know how to use them. Are you proud of me? <3

“ _ Please stop _ ,” Peter thinks, his feet going as fast as they can.

And then he’s somewhere else. Brick walls now like both sides of his view of the street in front of him. He looks behind him and it’s gone. Just a large trash bin is behind him, pressed against the brick wall of the alley behind it.

Adrenaline still clouds Peter’s mind and he sprints forward once more, looking right to left before he sprints across the two-lane street. He looks to his watch as he runs left down the sidewalk, slowing his pace to a fast walk as he watches the second hand tick. tick. Tick.

Bump!

Peter crashes into someone, sending their groceries everywhere. For a moment, all he can do is stare.

Stare at the first person he’s seen in what’s felt like weeks.

“Are you alright?” the man asks with a British accent. Peter is jolted out of his frozen state and begins to help pick up the groceries without prompt.

“Sorry, sir,” Peter says. “I-I’m fine.” Is he fine? he thinks not.

“You don’t sound fine,” the man says softly. “Hey, stop.” He grabs Peter’s shoulder gently, stopping him from continuing to put the groceries in their bags. “What happened? How did you get all those scrapes?”

Peter looks over himself, realizing just how scratched up his arms are. His face is probably worse, and his torso and legs sting just as much as the rest of him. “I-I don’t think you’d believe me,” Peter answers as he watches the man pick up the few remaining groceries.

“You’d be surprised,” the man says, like it’s an inside joke with himself and he hates the punchline. “I’m Martin Blackwood.” He holds out his hand for Peter to shake.

“Peter,” Peter says softly, gently taking the hand and shaking it. His hands still sting from the abrasions.

“Do you live nearby? Can you get home alright?” Martin asks. 

“I’m from New York City,” Peter answers.

“Right, yes, you have an accent. Did you come alone, or…?” Martin asks, shifting side to side nervously.

“Uh, no I-I came with my class. But I don’t really know where I am… or how to get back to where I was, or if my class went home without me,” Peter says. “Do you have a phone I could borrow? Mine’s been dead for… a while.”

“No, I’m sorry I left my phone at work. I was just about to pick it up actually. There’s first aid and stuff there. If you want. It’s closer than any police station I could take you too. Sasha will probably know the right people to call to get you back to your class or get you home.”

“I-Okay, I guess,” Peter answers.

Martin gives him a friendly smile that bends his eyes warmly. “C’mon then.” He starts walking down the street in the same direction Peter was walking. 

“Do you want me to hold one of those?” Peter asks, gesturing to the three bags in Martin’s hands.

“Oh, thanks,” Martin says, handing him a bag as they walk. 

Peter takes it in his less scraped up hand. 

“Here’s the place,” Martin says ten minutes later.

It’s a three-story-tall brick building, squished between the buildings adjacent to it. Martin climbs up the short staircase and opens the door for Peter. A large window decal on the door reads “ _ The Magnus Institute _ ”.

“I guess Rosie’s gone home for the day,” Martin mutters to himself as he walks further into the building, glancing at an empty receptionist's desk. 

Martin guides him to a staircase, leading him down it. Peter almost doesn’t want to go. The adrenaline may have seeped from his mind but he’s still on edge. Why did he come here with this practical stranger?

“Sasha?” Martin calls out from the bottom of the stairs. “Are you in?”

Peter listens for a response as he steps down the squeaky staircase. Martin sets down the groceries by the staircase as he waits for a response. Peter sets down his bag as the silence awaits them. 

“I guess she’s gone home for the day. C’mon, I’ll get a first aid kit,” Martin says, walking through a door to his left. Peter follows him through the door into a small room that has another door in the right-hand back corner with a small plaque next to it that reads “Climate Control Archives” 

Martin crosses the room and pulls a first aid kit from a cabinet above a large sink. Peter stands still in the doorway until he opens the door for the room off the side and looks at Peter to follow.

“Why is there a bed in a climate-controlled room?” Peter asks a few strides later as he steps into the room.

“My boss sleeps in here sometimes when he works too late,” Martin answers, opening the first aid kit.

“That sounds unhealthy, why doesn’t he just go home at a normal time?” Peter asks.

“Cause he’s a workaholic and an idiot. Him sleeping here is better than him not sleeping at all,” Martin answers, getting out a small cloth from the kit. “I’m going to get some water, just sit tight.”

Peter waits and within two minutes Martin is back.

“So what do you do here?” Peter asks as Martin places a small mug of water on the table and dips the cloth into it.

“We collect statements from the public about paranormal things they’ve experienced, follow up on them to prove their accuracy and then, well, we archive them,” Martin explains slowly as he begins to dap at a cut above Peter’s eyebrow with a remarkably gentle hand. 

Martin makes his way through most of Peter’s more significant wounds. He’s wrapping the cuts on Peter’s hands as a knock sounds at the door.

“What’s going on, Martin?” A man asks as he enters the room, scanning Peter with his eyes fiercely. Though he looks quite tired.

“Peter this is Jon, he’s the Head Archivist,” Martin introduces, pausing his work on cleaning Peter’s scrapes. “Jon, this is Peter. He ran into me on the street and I think he should give a statement.”

“ **Why is that exactly?** ” Jon asks.

“I got trapped in a weird maze of a train yard that wouldn’t let me climb the trains and black goo with teeth chased me,” Peter says slowly.

“Ah, I see. I’ll get a tape recorder ready in a few minutes,” Jon says, turning around and walking out of view. 

“What exactly does giving my statement entail?” Peter asks.

“Well, it means that you sit down with Jon, and he records you telling him what happened,” Martin explains, finishing bandaging a cut. 

“How did you know anything weird even happened?” Peter asks, shifting slightly and wincing as he bumps a cut on his knee. 

“I’ve developed a bit of a sense for it, though Jon’s probably much better at it,” Martin says, slightly sheepish, though Peter can’t tell why.

Peter nods, understanding. “Does this kind of thing happen a lot?”

“Finding someone on the street to take a statement from? You’re the first in my experience. Someone coming in here beat up and panicked? Definitely not. I’d say most of the time they’re told to come here a few days after the event or come here on their own. But I wouldn’t be surprised if someone has wandered in off the street to give a statement.” Martin chuckles. “There’s just so many of them.”

Peter shivers when Martin’s words quiet near the end. He’s stopped cleaning Peter’s cuts. This place feels the same as the train yard. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He takes a slow, deep breath.

Time to make a statement.

^*^

_ Click _

“ **Statement of Peter Parker regarding his disappearance on a school trip to London. Recorded directly from subject. Fourteen, February, two-thousand and seventeen.**

“ **Statement begins,** ” Mr. Sims says.

“It started after I got separated from my group. I was out with my friends, Ned Leeds, Betty Brant, Brad Davis, and Michelle Jones when we got separated. We were on a field trip, we’re from America. We weren’t supposed to be out that late, and curfew for when our teacher was going to check on us was at eleven. I think it was about 10:30 when I got split off from them. We were in a cafe near Camden Town station and I went to the bathroom. I knew my phone was near dead when I went in, but when I came out and none of them were there, I checked to see if I had any messages from them. My phone was dead though.

“Ned should have texted me that they were going somewhere, he wouldn’t have forgotten me, but he was pretty distracted by Betty ‘cause they had just started dating. I mean they should have texted me. I hope they texted me. I still don’t know if they did. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway because when I got out of the bathroom, my phone was dead and they were gone.

“It was a half-hour from curfew. I kept checking my watch, waiting for them to come back. At about 10:40 I think, I gave up on them coming back and kept an eye out for anyone or anything that could be them or where they might have gone, but I just headed for the subway station. I think you guys call it the underground, right?” Peter gives a brief humorless chuckle like he’s trying to force enjoyment into himself. “I was taking the Northern Line, just from Camden Town to Burnt Oak if that means anything to you. I had it written on a piece of paper to remember. Just eight stops.

“It was late, but it wasn’t  _ that _ late. I figured there should have been at least someone else there, but no one was. At least on my side of the tacks. On the other side, there were at least five or so people. All of them were on their phones and didn’t even look up when a train pulled up on my side. The train was kind of quiet, at the time I thought I was just used to New York City trains, but now I’m not so sure.

“I’ve never had a problem with riding on the subway alone, even at night. I know I’m just a nerdy kid from Queens, but I can handle myself if I need too. But I don’t know what it was, you guys deal with supernatural stuff, but I am hesitant to say that’s what it was, but that’s when I started getting the feeling something was watching me. It was like that feeling you get when it’s dark and you get up in the middle of the night and you keep your back near a wall or move very quickly while you get a glass of water. That phantom touching that you feel when there is nothing but darkness behind you and you know nothing is actually touching you because that’s not a feeling anything can create, even wind. I honestly don’t think I’ve stopped feeling that, but that’s when it started. Even though the train was pretty well lit. 

“I wouldn’t call the lighting bright, though. The glass over the lights was cloudy and I think that dimmed the lights considerably. I just stepped in, grabbed a handle out of habit I guess, and stared out the window as the doors closed and the train started moving forward.

“The watched feeling got stronger the longer I stood there and I couldn’t help but feel rather exposed. I felt like eyes were raking up my arms and back and I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment as I dogged forward to take a seat so my back was to something. I ended up slamming my elbow into a metal bar as I sat down, but the watched feeling decreased slightly as I sat there so I thought it was worth it. The watched feeling was finally ignorable, and everything was fine about the ride for about ten seconds. Then the train moved up above ground. I thought that was why the subways are called undergrounds here, cause it’s all underground. That part didn’t bother me though. I was bothered because I knew the track shouldn’t have done that if I were going back to the hotel on the right train. 

“So I stood up and walked over to a spot where there should have been a map, as the train sped along. The problem was the entire map seemed to be coated in whatever the stuff that was fogging the lights was. I couldn’t wipe any of it away because it was on the other side of the glass. I looked around for a different map, but it seemed all of the glass that wasn’t an outside window was entirely coated on its inner side. 

“It was then that I decided that I would just get off at the next station and check the map. And if for some reason that didn’t work I could use a payphone and call my friends or my teacher. About thirty seconds later the train pulled to a stop. But it wasn’t into a station from what I could tell. I checked my watch, but the hands were frozen at 10:59. The second hand was so close to turning the minute hand. I didn’t think I could have even been on the train that long. The doors opened like it expected me to get off, it was just darkness out there, no street lights or anything. The light coming from the train let me see the thick fog waiting outside the doors.

“There was no announcement. Usually, there’s someone saying something, but I couldn’t seem to remember if it had been done on my trip to the cafe or not. The train just stayed there, the doors stayed open. I called out for someone to hear me but there didn’t seem to be anyone there.

“I don’t remember walking through the doors, I just ended up outside in the darkness. I was still calling out and the doors closed behind me. The train immediately sped off. Before I could register what that meant I was walking through the fog. 

“I stopped walking when the sun started rising. It shouldn’t have been rising, my phone had only died maybe half an hour ago at most. But the sky was turning orange. Or the fog was. I could see my breath in the cold.

“I started walking again and didn’t stop until I almost tripped over a train track and the sky had turned gray. It was all gray all around me. And it stayed gray like that for almost the entire rest of the time I was there.

“There were train cars in front of me. Two long links of them going to the right and left in front of me. I couldn’t see very far through the fog, but it felt like they’d go on forever. Trepidation struck through me as I realized what was happening. I was lost in the middle of nowhere. I didn’t know where I was, and no one knew where I was. I couldn’t stand standing still and waiting for someone to find me. I knew the old rusting train cars must have been a sign of life, but I couldn’t just stand there. 

“So I stepped forward. I stepped over the train tracks and it felt like my guts got pushed into a washing machine. Gravity pulled me to my right, but before I could move I started falling upwards. I went an inch before I was pulled to my left, and then I was painfully slammed back into the gravel underneath me.

“I was in a maze of some kind, made out of the train cars. I stood up slowly, the world was spinning around me. There were two small black puddles in the gravel to my left. They looked so black and so bottomless. I decided to go right. 

“There was a sound like water sloshing in a bucket behind me. I turned around and saw that the two puddles were now one, and slowly creeping closer to me. The puddles moved and followed me. They were black and thick. They glided over the surface of the ground in a goopy mess. It didn't care if I was looking or not. 

“I started walking quicker. It didn’t seem to notice, so I kept my quick pace until the next junction. And the next. It seemed to go one forever. And then I got to a stretch of train. It went on forever. I walked and walked and walked and there was just another train car waiting in the fog. 

“At some point, I tried to slip in between the train cars to see if there was something on the other side. The black puddle launched in front of me. It changed form into an expansive mass that filled the entire space between the two cars. I dodged backward before it could touch me. It seemed like it started sucking in light like a black hole. Looking at it gave me a headache. I kept staring at it as I moved away from it. As soon as it was out of my line of sight I broke into a sprint. 

“I stopped running after I passed a few more train cars and decided to try something else. On the other side of me, I tried to climb under the train car.” Peter’s breathing quickens. “As soon as my head was underneath the train it started creaking like it was going to move. I dodged away, I was barely fast enough to not get run over.

“It stopped as soon as I was out from underneath. It barely looked like it had ever been moving. I tried to put my finger underneath it, just to test it out. It seemed like the whole train, going on for infinity creaked as the wheels moved closer to my finger.

“I just sat there. I didn’t know how to get out. I didn’t know what to do. The entire world seemed infinite and static. Then I heard the black goo again. I stopped caring. It came up to me and started settling around my feet. Like it was trying to take root before it grew around me. It was like I could feel it’s intentions for a moment. 

“I got away just as it touched me. Just as it wrapped around my left foot. I just moved before my mind could finish processing it. After I’d moved, it just sat there. It sat there like I’d done something to it, or it had died. There was a clear outline of where my right shoe had been, but the left was misshapen. I checked to see if there was any goo on my shoe. None of it had stuck to me. The dry gravel made the black puddle so much darker. It seemed like it was sucking in light again. I backed away as it started to move again.

“I ran into the train behind me. It echoed so loud. But the metal rungs pushing into my back as my body froze up again momentarily made me realize there was another way to get out. Can’t go around it, can’t go under it, time to go over it. I had climbed to the top of the train car before I could fully realize that that was what the ladder was for. 

“I got to the top. Or where the top should have been. But… but I was falling for a few seconds. A long few seconds. Far longer than I should have been falling. My head got kind of cloudy, and the sound of train wheels clicking filled my head. A repetitive patterned clacking. I say it was like a train, but that just might be the environment. It was kind of like a toy train I guess. Going around and around and around on a track. I guess what I’m trying to say is it sounded like plastic… plastic but trains. And there was this whirring behind it, not like your tape recorder, more like… more like an old-timey projector. I guess the whole sound could be compared to an old-timey projector. The kind that has to be hand-cranked and makes that whirring noise. But it made me think of trains.

“Sorry. I was falling and there was that sound and for every click, it was like the sky turned off. All I could see while I was falling was that thick fog and I could feel it moving past my face, but when it clicked, and it clicked so fast and frequently, it was like the sky turned off. Like someone was pulling the chain on a lightbulb really fast as a train went around and around. But it wasn’t just a lightbulb, they were turning off the sun and the stars and the moon. There wasn’t any light coming from anywhere, but I could still see the fog. Or maybe my mind just projected the fog being there in front of me. 

“I blinked. That’s all it took. I blinked for a moment and the pattern faltered slightly, for just as long as a blink it stayed light. I closed my eyes. I squeezed them shut and I hated the lack of friction from my falling body. It’s like there wasn’t any air at all, just gravity. Then I opened my eyes, and I crashed into the gravel.

“The rocks dug into my skin and everything hurt. I found myself able to push myself up again only after I heard the wet sound of the black goo sliding across the gravel. It was coming from under the train car. I had been toppled over to the other side of the train. It looked almost the same as the other side of the train. Except ahead there was a junction. 

“I stood up, only to get away from the goo. My skin stung as I walked toward the space in the train cars. I knew the goo was following me, but it was slower than me. I knew there was little chance of there being a way out on the other side of that junction. I didn’t care. It was better than doing nothing.

“I started remembering a little saying from a children’s radio show my aunt used to play for me. Can’t go over it, can’t go under it, can’t go around it, we have to go through it. My brain pressed that in over and over. Repeating itself like there was more to it than that. Like there was more to the saying. But there wasn’t. It just had to keep going. So I did what the saying told me. I decided to go through one of the train cars on the other side of the junction. 

“I tried to open up one of the old cargo cars that sat there. It groaned against my pull and wouldn’t move an inch. I gave up pretty quickly and moved onto the next one down, or up, I guess. It doesn’t matter, trains go both ways. The next one I tried slid open so smoothly. The little wheels that it moved along barely made a sound. It looked like such an old train car, so I just stared at the open door. I think I was waiting for it to make a noise. 

“But then the blood caught my eye.” Peter’s voice gets airier like he’s struggling to get enough air out. “There were streaks of blood all around the inside. Handprints, footprints, hair prints. All of it. Just dried blood, streaked and stamped everywhere, dragging itself to the door. I swung the door shut quickly.

“I didn’t try again. 

“The goo was right up at my ankles again. I tried to walk away from it. But it had gotten faster. So much faster. 

“I ran from the black blob that seemed to be chasing my heels as fast as I could. I knew I was lucky to shake it off the first time, and it just kept launching at me. I knew it was trying to wrap itself around my ankles, but I don’t know how. That part of your foot where your bone meets your heel, maybe it’s a tendon, I don’t know, right at the back. That’s what it was going for. That little chunk of flesh where your heel meets your ankle. It was going for that. Trying to latch onto that with its teeth that kept coming and going and trying to wrap itself around my ankles to stop me from running.

“I don’t know how, but I was faster. I just kept running as fast as I could. I think I started pleading with it at some point, but that might have just been in my head. I kept saying ‘please.’ That it wasn’t a fair fight and I kept asking it to stop. To ‘ _ please stop _ ’. I guess it was listening. I guess I was speaking aloud because somehow I ended up running between two brick walls. And I stopped hearing it behind me. A car rushed onto the road in front of me. I looked behind me and it was just a brick wall and a large dumpster.”

Peter gives a slightly wet laugh. “Then I rushed out of the alleyway, looking around me like there was no tomorrow. Time finally felt like it was properly passing again and I stared at my watch as I moved down the pretty much empty sidewalk moving way to fast for not paying attention to where I was going, and I crashed straight into Mr. Blackwood.

“I knocked all the groceries out of his hands and I tried to pick them up. Mr. Blackwood got me to slow down. He got some of the panic out of my head and stopped me from running off.

“He brought me here and cleaned me up a bit, asked me what happened and such. I ended up talking to you and well, you know how it goes from there.” 

" **Statement ends** . Thank you, Mr. Parker. I-”

There’s a knock at the door, it opens with a loud creak and Martin leans in.

“Oh good, you’re done,” he says brightly. “I made you some soup, Peter. When you want it.”

“Yes, you can go now, Peter,” Mr. Sims says, looking down at a piece of paper he had silently been writing down little phrases on and waves his hand for Peter to go.

Peter stands up and timidly follows Martin out of the room. The door squeaks shut. 

_ Click _

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate titles include: That One Time Michael got Bored and Trapped a Kid in a Train Yard that was Never Actually There.
> 
> Thanks for reading...
> 
> Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/midnight_clover_/  
Tumblr: https://i-only-serve-the-distortion.tumblr.com/


End file.
